


the earth with her crowns

by ElasticElla



Series: If Not, Winter [15]
Category: All American (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 09:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: Asher isn't the one Olivia hooks up with at the party.





	the earth with her crowns

America’s sweetheart. 

It rolls off the tongue as _my ex-best friend_ and _Asher’s parties_ do. Which is to say, the words get caught up in her mouth every time, torn between regurgitation and consumption. (She can get them out of her mouth talking to Spencer, it’s easier somehow knowing he’s just as trapped as she in Layla.) 

Layla. 

It’s taken all year to even think her name properly. Layla, I love you. It feels like I always have. Ever since you tripped in the playground and I helped you up, ever since you grinned at me like you were sure I would be by your side for the rest of time. Layla, it’s always been you.

Asher still doesn’t know what happened in his own bedroom, there’s no way he would ever push for a reconciliation between them if he did. (Either way, he’s far too insecure and not conniving enough, to attempt such a thing.) Some days she wonders if Layla remembers, or if she was too crossfaded. When she’s feeling particularly masochistic she imagines Layla doesn’t, doesn’t understand why Olivia won’t just go back to normal, to being friends with her. That Olivia _could_ , that one moment washed away forever. 

Today isn’t one of those days though. Today she thinks of those delicate fingers cupping her neck, of their shared lipstick turning purple-pink, of how impossibly soft and sweet her lips were. It’s easy to imagine Layla as a goddess- of love or earth or loneliness- it doesn’t even feel like there’s a pedestal to trip over. She’s kind and brilliant, beautiful and glorious, and Olivia could weep at the thought of her. (Has, in fact.)

Some days she imagines if Layla didn’t care about her father. If after Olivia whispered, ‘We can be a secret if you’d like’, Layla hadn’t agreed. Hadn’t said that would be for the best, chasing her words with apologetic kisses. If Layla’s mother, the nearest thing Beverly Hills’ Housewives had to a hippie, always a proponent of chasing one’s bliss, had still been alive. If, if, if… 

Today she doesn’t. It’s a dangerous game to get caught up in, nearly makes her wish for the bittersweet oblivion pills. (They hadn’t only been a cry for help, but a silencing device, a way to stop being herself.) Reality and sobriety, she reminds herself, her new mantra. Reality and sobriety.

Layla’s been happier lately. She doesn’t know if it’s due to Spencer or Asher or someone else, something else perhaps, but she’s almost looking like her old radiant self. Almost but not quite, another reminder that she doesn’t know this new Layla, shouldn’t be making such claims of familiarity. 

She’s in love with a memory. Or is it a projection? No, it was real- even if it refuses to stay that way, a worn out memory she keeps flipping back to, over and over, can’t possibly be recalling it exactly the same every time.

Layla’s happy. And one day, Olivia thinks she might be too.


End file.
